huh.

Thinking about moving comes in waves of excitement, nervousness, insecurity, freakedoutedness, etc. Sometimes it doesn't seem like a reality, then all of a sudden it just sort of hits me and I realize what I'm ACTUALLY doing. I've been systematically taking stock of my life over the past 23 years and re-visiting a lot of nostalgic things like pictures of old friends and things that I used to do. Missing friends that have passed away (Charles, Nicole) and reminiscing about things that used to make me so happy (swimming, being innocent, going to soccer games, first kisses when that was such a huge deal, Cabin John Park, musical theater, after school art, being generally more carefree). Sometimes I take stock in just exactly where I am in my life and what place I have in this world and how far I've come with school, accomplishments, old friends, and new friends. I definitely miss those times but cherish the independence that I have striven for and achieved, but at what cost? I did appreciate the times of disposable income, my mom making lunch for me every day, Taco Sundays, weekends in Georgetown, having more boy friends than boyfriends and not knowing what to do with boys I liked, shows in DC, feeling independent while not having to worry about money or insurance or anything. I guess this is all part of growing up, and I wouldn't change anything if I could, but I think I freak myself out needlessly some of the time. I am so excited about what this next chapter of my life with bring, and I can't wait to start it, but it definitely is scary not knowing how things of this magnitude will work out. I try to hope for the best but know the worst could happen, but I think everything will work out alright. It always does somehow, even when I have no idea how.